


As Sweet as Pain

by murdur



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, I'm Sorry, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdur/pseuds/murdur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki failed. And he must pay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Sweet as Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Found this buried in my google docs, last touched nearly a year ago. Decided to finish it up in "celebration" of Thor 2, although it has nothing to do with the movie and it is _not at all_ a happy tale.

He had not succeeded. Midgard and that group of abnormal humans had risen against him and had defeated him. Now, Thor was to bring him back to his “home” to face the consequences of his misdeeds. But he did not fear Asgard’s judgement, knowing that nothing could compare to the punishment that awaited him beyond this realm. He knew it was not a matter of if but of  when before they came for him. No matter how deep into Asgard’s belly Odin locked Loki away, it wouldn’t be far enough to hide from _him_.

Loki just hoped that he had enough time to do what he must.

After his fall from the Bifrost, the Trickster had spent months at their mercy. They had broken his body and invaded his mind. They had mined deep within him for ammunition, for leverage. Penetrated his memories, they knew him inside and out. They had seen his heart. And they knew about _her_. Her smile, her radiance. What they had was no longer a secret shared between them in the dark. Nothing was sacred, nothing was safe.

Icy fear ran down his spine, The Other’s promise ringing in his ears.

_You will long for something as sweet as pain._

Loki spared a glance at his not-brother while he was led by his bound hands through a hidden corridor of the palace. He looked and knew that it was hopeless for Thor, that much was already clear. After everything Loki had done, all the destruction he had caused on Thor’s beloved realm, the Thunderer had not forsaken him. He led Loki with firm hands and rough shoves, but there was a sadness in his eyes that betrayed his feelings. Thor was disappointed. The pained look on his face meant that he still cared.

Loki prayed that he would not see that same sentiment mirrored in her eyes

She must hate him, she had to. He would make sure of it. It was for her own good, for his own good. It’s what he deserved, to be treated as the monster he was. And maybe, just maybe, _when_ Thanos came for him it would keep her safe. Her pure contempt for him and for what he’d done, who he’d become would make her an ally of the Titan, not a threat to be rid of.

Though he was sure that his assistance would not be required, Loki’s mind spun with all the ways he could convince her to renounce him completely. For a moment, he thought he should perhaps simply confess to her what was coming. Explain to her that she was in danger, that they all were. But what if she viewed it as a challenge? That would be so like the shieldmaiden, to love him out of spite for his wishes.

He almost smiled at that.

But then he was pushed down onto his knees, peering up through his lashes to see the golden gleam of the throne room. Standing before him was his not-father, the great Odin.

Though his eyes did not leave his wrinkled and weary face, Loki was hardly aware of the words that left the Allfathers mouth. What did they matter? Stripped of his magic, locked away in the dungeons, as expected. He stayed frozen as he felt his magic being ripped from his bones, from his soul. Thor pulled the muzzle from his face. Loki nodded his understanding, offering nothing more. No gestures of remorse, no pleas for forgiveness, accepting the punishment without protest.

Thor pulled Loki to his feet, leaving his hands chained together. A woman moved from the peripheral of Loki’s sight to stand in front of him. The agonized look on Frigga’s face was enough to make Loki swallow the lump of emotion from his throat. She was as sentimental as Thor. Stupid. He could not afford to bow to those same weaknesses. When she wrapped her arms around his middle and sobbed into his chest, Loki made a soft noise in the back of his throat, but stood stock still.

Over his mother’s head, Loki saw the Allfather gesture to someone near the door, the sound of booted feet approaching. And then she was there in front of him. She met his gaze without flinching, her eyes contained nothing but pure contempt. He could nearly feel the fury rolling off of her tensed shoulders, crashing over him in waves like blows from her clenched fists. He was sure it would have burned to touch her. Not the sensation of his skin aflame with desire of days past, but something new and mean. Thor gently pulled his mother from Loki’s frame, shifting her to the side, but Loki’s eyes remained of the warrior. Even one less skilled at reading others could see it plain as day; Sif hated Loki.

At that, he truly smiled.

She led the way to Loki’s cell in the dungeons, Thor pushing him along from behind. Loki did not know whether he should be grateful or not that she was assigned as his gatekeeper for this first night. He quickly decided that the sooner he made sure she hated him, the better.

When Thor locked the hard metal behind Loki’s back and parted the damp dungeons after placing a hand on Sif’s straight shoulders, a cold silence fell upon the pair. The silence of her anger was deafening and he was glad.

He stood at the bars of his cage, his hands draped lazily over the cold metal and stared at her, waiting. She kept her eyes off of him, facing the stairwell that led from this hole in the ground. She did not even shift, yet he could practically hear her mind shouting at him. He sighed and waited.

It came as a hard whisper, hours later. “Why?”  He had tried to kill her. Her and Thor and their friends with the Destroyer. He had tried to take over an entire realm. And many had died in his fit of anger and bitterness.

“Because,” he sighed long suffering,  “I wanted to. It’s what I was born to do. It is what I was _meant_ to do.”

Sif turned to him then, her eyes aflame and her voice hard. “You _wanted_ me to die? You wanted your brother to suffer? Your mother?”

“Should I have taken pity on those who were so quick to stick a knife in my own back?”

“They are your family.”

“And you would place yourself with them?” Loki laughed cruelly and Sif’s cheeks turned a pretty red. “You think you should hold some place in my heart that I would look kindly on you?”

Sif’s mouth opened to speak but closed shut again. Loki’s voice turned to mocking pity.

“Oh lovely, Sif. You are nothing to me, and never have been. Not that I didn’t appreciate your help in passing long, cold nights. But what difference is there between you and a common whore in that task?”

Sif’s hand flashed to the sword at her side, the rage and hurt blinked quickly away from her eyes.

 _He’ll come for me. And he’ll kill you all. Just kill me. Save yourselves_ , his mind begged.

She paused her hand, regaining herself and turning away from him. He pushed further, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction at his words, a need to drive her away.

“And just like a whore you ran so willingly into Thor’s arms. Desperate for his attention now that his eyes had turned to another. At least you are aware of how you came to gain your status.”

At that, he saw a cold freeze pass over her averted gaze and her jaw clench tight. He smiled, satisfied that she had forsaken him in that moment. He was now nothing to her, just as she thought she was to him. A small part of his heart ached at sight of it, but he quickly buried it under the ice running in his veins.

He hoped it was enough.

 

* * *

 

Sif was on guard when they came. Months or perhaps years after his first night in the dungeon, the hulking figure darkened the opening to his prison. Easily slashing through the two guards posted by the upper doors, his minions spilled down the stairwell. Sif drew her sword, locking both blades into place, her skin aglow with her blood singing of war.

She fought brilliantly and furiously. Chitauri fell in heaps around her. But even the Goddess of War could not withstand their numbers. Loki was helpless to watch from within his cage, deprived of his magic, as they knocked her glaive from her grip. Still she felled them with her fists and feet until she took a hard blow to the head and crumpled to the floor.

The enormous beast slowly made his way down the stairs from where he had observed the skirmish. Leaning down, his great purple hand grabbed the shieldmaiden by the back of her hair, wrenching her face up. Loki bristled at the sight.

“Ah the Lady Sif.” His voice was low and calm, yet Loki’s legs suddenly felt liquid, acute fear creeping up the back of his spine. “It appears that she has been assigned as the Trickster’s personal protector. Well, who are we to deprive her of her duty? She comes with us.”

“No,” Loki whispered as a Chitauri lifted her unconscious form from the floor and Thanos turned his gaze upon him with a wide, cruel smile. He was trapped. He had lost. He had failed her. Thanos ripped the metal from it’s hinges and Loki stepped back in fear. Blackness consumed him.

 

* * *

 

He awoke, groggy and disoriented, his back aching. Something was not right. The air felt stale and stung his nose. Where was he? Where was Sif?

 _Sif_. Loki quickly came to his senses, jumping to his feet with a throbbing head.

A quick sweep of the room revealed that he was alone. The prison was made of smooth rock, but there was a seam of a door on one wall. He must get out and find her, if she still lived. He walked towards it and raised his hands, realizing quickly that he still possessed no magic. He swore and pushed against it with his full body weight. It did not budge.

That’s when he heard her voice, the low tone of it reaching his ears, but her words were unintelligible. He froze, his ears straining to pick up the sound. His heart leapt in his chest knowing that she was alive. From the sharp bark of her voice, it was clear that she was arguing with someone, defiant as ever. Loki wished she wouldn’t. If she’d just cooperate, maybe they would let her go. Show them that she was their ally, that she wanted him to suffer, wanted him dead and gone just as much as they did.

Raised voices reached his ears. A giant crash. Grunts and moans. He pushed down his panic at the echo of a fight. Loki tried his best to remind himself that Sif was a warrior, she was equipped to handle pain and torture tactics. Short cries of pain burst through the crack of the door. Loki began to pace. What did they want from her? Information against Asgard? She had centuries of training and an unwavering loyalty to the throne, it was a useless task. Why would they bother with her, when he could give them the same information, would offer it freely?

When her screams came, the pain echoing loudly off the walls, Loki paced his cell faster, feeling like a wild animal. This was his fault. He would make them pay, if only he had his magic. It seemed to stretch on forever. How long had she been screaming? Minutes? Hours? Days? He couldn’t tell. He covered his ears, tried to block it out but still it pressed against his ears, into his mind, sunk into his bones until he could stand it no more.

“Sif!”

Suddenly her scream cut off. The silence felt like a presence in the room, making his hairs stand on end. He felt even more distressed. Did she live? What had they done? He continued to pace, the silence pressing against his ears.

_You will long for something as sweet as pain._

Without warning, the door swung open and Loki whipped around, bracing for an attack. A faceless creature pushed Sif’s limp form through the frame. Loki resisted the urge to lunge at the beast and instead sprang forward to catch Sif, breaking her fall as the door slammed shut again. Attempting to stop his shaking, he lowered her body as gently as he could to the floor.

“Sif.” He held her face in his hands yet she was unresponsive to his voice. Her armour was dented and tattered clothing hung from her bloodied and bruised limbs. But she was breathing.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat on the floor holding her, counting her breaths until her eyes finally fluttered open to look at him dazedly. “I’m sorry.” He whispered before her heavy eyes blinked closed again. “Sif, I’m so sorry.”

 

Barely conscious, she stayed in his arms until the door swung open again. The faceless creature stalked forward. Loki held her tighter, defensive, his skin crawling at the sound of the thing’s slimy voice.

“She certainly is a pretty thing, is she not? Such a shame that she dressed like a man. But even her armor can’t hide the curves underneath.”

Loki snarled, shifting. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed, “Don’t you dare touch her.”

Her fingers twisted into his shirt where he held her against his chest and whimpered. “No.”

The flaky hands of the creature reached for her and Loki kicked and thrashed against it. As if it did not feel a thing, the beast wrenched her easily from his grasp, shaking him off with a simple flick of his arm. Loki crashed against the wall bellowing in rage and shame and fear.

“I’ll kill you,” his pitiful threat was met with a cruel laugh and the slamming of the heavy door. The silence that followed was almost more than he could bear.

But even worse was when her screams started again, screaming his name.

“Loki!”

He pushed himself up onto his knees and crawled towards the door.

“Loki, please! Help me!”

The shrill ring of her voice sliced through him. He felt sick. His gut turned and he vomited, the meager contents of his stomach splashing onto the floor. Useless. He was utterly useless. He had held her in his arms but he could do nothing to help her. This was all his fault.

“LOKI!”

He stood on shaky legs and threw himself against the rock and steel of his cage. He felt naked without his magic, wholly powerless but he would claw his way out if he must.

Bellowing at the top of his lungs the Trickster outlined every nasty thing he planned for Thanos and his followers. He shouted to drown out her screams. Detailed how he would eviscerate and flay every last one of them. He shouted and pounded and scrabbled against the door until his voice gave out and his fingers were raw.

When the door burst open and he was thrown against the wall again, Sif’s body was dropped to the floor in heap. He crawled to her, taking in her tear-streaked face and torn clothing.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His scratched voice begged. Sif trembled violently where he knelt above her and said nothing. With blank eyes, she looked at him and curled away from his touch.

 

The third time they came, a tray of food was dropped to the floor. A bowl of murky broth and two slices of bread clattered to the hard ground. Loki scrambled quickly over to it, grateful to have a meal after who knows how long they’d spent locked away without food. Even the slightly sour smell of the stale bread made his mouth water and his stomach turn in hope.

He lifted the tray and carried it carefully over to where Sif rested, seated with her back propped against the far wall. She had recovered some strength, and had asked him to help sit her up. Loki dropped to his knees before her, anxious to see her fed first.

He lifted a slice of bread to her mouth, offering.

“I can feed myself, Loki,” she said groggily. “I am not a child.”

He fought a smile at her stubbornness, took it as a good sign and could not help the small bubble of hope that welled inside of him.

“And you are not suited to it,” her voice was weary.

“What, mothering? If the tales of Midgard hold truth, then I am more than adequate with such tasks.”

“No. Kindness.”

His smiled faltered. “Yes, well. Let me pretend.” He raised the bread to her lips again. “Please.”

She nodded and opened her mouth, taking a slow bite of the stale bread. Loki smiled again, relieved. He braced a hand against her shoulder when she began to cough and grew concerned as she choked and retched. Fluttering from her mouth, flaky powder clung to her lips. She raised a hand, scraping the soot from her tongue and meeting his eyes with unease.

He raised the broth to her lips, tipping the bowl back gently as she eagerly drank to clear the ash from her mouth. Until she violently gagged. Dry dirt fell from her lips and she spluttered, her eyes shining in horror.

Loki stared on in alarm. He could not feed her. Food turned to ash in her mouth, water to sand. He was torturing her trying to save her. With dread, he seized the bread and bit off a chunk for himself. Saliva filled his mouth at the sweet taste of the fare, whole and uncursed in his mouth.

He dropped the bread, disgusted at the trick. Disgusted with himself.

“Go on,” she rasped, attempting to wet her cracked lips with a dry tongue. “One of us should eat.”

“No,” he growled, meeting her eyes with shame and fury. She looked at him with a sad gentleness in her eyes, picking up the discarded bread and holding it out to him.

“Take it, Loki.” The growling of his stomach sounded over her words and she pressed the loaf into his palm. “Please.”

He sat back against the wall next to her, staring down at the bread in his hand. “Sif, I’m...”

“I know.” She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. Loki ate the food, guilt burning in his belly.

 

The fourth time they came for her, Loki begged. “Take me instead. Please, let her go.” He pleaded, trying to block their path to her with his body kneeling before her. “Tell me what you want. Set any task upon me and I will do it. Just set her free. Please. Please.”

They did not listen. Not the fourth time, nor the fifth time, nor the dozens of other times that followed. No matter how hard he begged, each time they would wrench her from his grasp, drag her from his sight and force him to listen to her torture. And then they would return her, battered and beaten into his arms. Each time, her skin was flayed from her body in a new pattern, her consciousness retreating into the recesses of her mind. He nearly lost track of how many times the door swung open, lost in a vortex of never-ending pain and fear and guilt.

The worst was when she returned in a fever and looked at him in horror. She had screamed when he touched her, clawing and fighting against him with strength and energy she could not afford to waste. He desisted, crawled to the opposite side of the room from her and he covered his ears at the abhorrent sound of her terrified cries. His heart shattered at the fear in her eyes.

_You will long for something as sweet as pain._

Loki prayed for death.

 

 

When the door opened again, the hundreth, the thousandth time, Loki hardly had the will to untangle his form from where it was draped across Sif in the far corner of the room. However, when he raised his head to gaze at the intruder, he sprang to his feet, clumsily staggering towards the door.

Thanos stood, a great mass of a shadow blocking the light from the other side of the cell. Instead of charging in an attack, Loki fell forward and kneeled on the floor.

“Please,” he begged, “I failed you. This is my burden to bear, my punishment to suffer. I accept it gladly.” His voice faltered, cracking in pain as he continued. “Please let her go. Please end this, I beg of you.”

“You beg for this to end?” Thanos asked, a large smile filling his face. “Very well.” His enormous hand came forward in a lazy gesture, tossing an object in front of Loki. The sound of metal clattering to the floor reverberated around the small space.

“Go on. Release her. End it.”

Loki’s eyes dropped from Thanos’ face to the object laying before him. It was a sharp blade. Loki’s own knife. His stomach rolled violently upon realization of Thanos’ words and the scant contents of his stomach threatened to reappear.

“No,” he plead.

Thanos’ cruel laughter slid across the room, cutting through Loki’s core and raising the hair on the back of his neck. The bile in the back of his throat sour.

“If you cannot do what you know you must, then we can continue our little routine.”

The door slammed shut again, rattling Loki’s bones. He lifted his dagger from the floor and turned on his knees to look upon Sif’s huddled broken mass. She had been tortured to a nearly unrecognizable shell of her former, shining self. He could not bear it.

He raised the blade to his own heart, to his wrist, to his throat. But with each plunge, each drag, each swipe, the sharp blade left nary a mark against his pale skin. Dull as a butter knife. The dagger was bewitched, he could not take his own life. He screamed in agony.

With stinging eyes he looked towards her again. She looked almost peaceful. Her powerful body emaciated, the angry red welts and purple bruises painted her sallow skin a sickly color. Her face was gaunt, hollow with starvation and her once shining hair now dull and mussed, stuck to her head in bloody clumps. But she still breathed, still survived. Persistent, defiant as ever. Still Sif.

Perhaps she could recover, he thought. Or die softly in her sleep. But Loki knew time was ticking away before that door would swing open again and it would not be long before their pain pushed her too far.

Loki looked down at himself. Untouched, unblemished, with food in his stomach. He was intact and whole, yet horribly broken.

He crawled forward until he was next to her crumpled form. She was curled in on herself, her breathing shallow and labored. As gently as he could, he unfurled her and rolled her onto her back. He peered down at her unconscious face. Bruised and scraped and bleeding and dirty. Yet he couldn’t help but think that she was still beautiful. Reaching one trembling hand forward, he touched her cheek. He let the pads of his long fingers glide down her tattered skin until they rested at the juncture of her neck. Her pulse pushed against his fingers; sluggish and weak, but there.

For a moment he pondered. Perhaps he should rouse her, make her aware that her suffering was going to come to an end, let her go with a happy expectation of release on her mind. He wanted to kiss her, to tell her that he never meant all those horrible things he said upon his return, how deeply he regretted everything that had come to pass, that he loved her. He wanted her to absolve him.

But he did not deserve that. He should provoke her, incite the warrior within and make her fight him. Maybe she could still make it into the halls of Valhalla if she resisted him.

But he was a coward. If he saw her eyes, if he saw Sif, he knew he could not guarantee that he would not falter. And then her fate would be back in the hands of Thanos, and that thought was enough to steel his resolve. He would make it quick, efficient.

Rising slightly, Loki kneeled next to her, blade raised above his head in both hands. He exhaled, “I’m sorry, Sif.”

The blade flashed as he plunged the knife down, straight and true. With a sickening snap, he felt the steel tear through flesh and break through bone. To his horror, the pain of the dagger seemed to cruelly pull Sif’s mind back into searing consciousness. Back bending sharply, her spine curved off of the floor as a great shuddered breath dragged into her punctured lungs. Her calloused hands lifted, hovering around the handle of the blade still buried within her. With another sharp gasp, the warrior’s head twisted slightly, and her brown eyes, wide in shock, fell upon him.

“Oh god, oh Sif,” he reached down and pulled her into his lap. He cradled her gently, a cruel imitation of a lovers embrace. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He moved his hand to grasp the knife handle, desperately wanting to undo what he’d just done. Take it out, take it back. Her hand touched his wrist weakly, stopping his motion. Sif shook her head and coughed weakly. He pressed his hand against her chest near where the knife was lodged, attempting to stem the flow of blood in vain.

Loki was in the depths of his worst nightmare. She took another choking breath, her hand lifting to grasp the front of his shirt, to keep him there. His long fingered hand lifted, pushing the hair back from her face and painting her brow with her own blood, like a perverse warpaint.

He wished for this to end. He never wanted her to go.

“It’ll be over soon, Sif,” he whispered. She nodded.

“I’m glad,” she gasped, her voice wet with blood. “I’m glad it was you.”

His shoulders shook uncontrollably and his hot tears splashed against her pale cheeks.

“Loki,” she breathed in between a shuddered gasp.

“I’m here.” He lowered his face and pressed his lips to hers in desperation.

He was alone.


End file.
